Resurrection (Immortal Soulless Book 1)

by Tanith Frost

  I wonder what will happen to me if I’m caught. Every night that’s passed without me turning myself in has probably sealed my fate more firmly. I’m not trustworthy. What happened in that alley tonight will count as endangering our secrets.

  I hope it’s quick. I’ve heard rogues get a needle. Something that takes them out instantly, though that’s not to say they might not be tortured first.

  And that’s it for us. No white light. No peaceful rest. I don’t have a soul that will live on anymore, for better or worse. This is it. It took me a long time to believe that, but I do now, just as firmly as I once believed in heaven.

  I tighten my fists until my nails dig into the palms of my hands and the pain brings me back to the present.

  This is it. This moment is all I have. My life is over. My future is in question. If I’m going to learn anything that will bring the rogues and Katya to justice, it happens now.

  The tastes of blood and fear linger on my tongue, exciting my power. At least that’s something. I just need to find a way to connect with these people again.

  I ignored the shadows when I was here before. I’m ready to listen now, if it’s not too late.

  I rifle through the open mail on the desk in the living room. Bills, some of them second notices. But she just had the windows done. Either things aren’t as bad as they look, or she was getting the place ready to sell. I want it to be the former. Maybe she was just careless.

  The desk drawers don’t offer much else, and I turn my attention to the shelves by the TV. Three baby books, one pink, one blue, one yellow. The pink one is pretty full at the beginning, sparse after a few years. The next one shows good effort, too. The third one has barely been touched. Cute babies, I guess. I was never great with little kids. I don’t dislike them, though, and the thought of these bright little beings facing what they did claws at my heart.

  I wonder whether this mother would have made different choices if she’d known how things would end, or whether their short lives were better than nothing. I want to obey my old orders and turn my thoughts away from that, look at things objectively, but I don’t. This is okay. This is how I’ll learn more.

  Or not. There’s not even a hint of a shadow here, no matter how hard I think about these kids or their mom. Not even as I walk back through the kitchen. Everything is cleaned up. They’re gone.

  I wander up the dark staircase, passing a gallery of framed pictures. The girl grins in school photos for kindergarten to grade three. The boy wore glasses. He didn’t have those on when he died.

  The atmosphere upstairs weighs heavier on me, and my steps slow. It’s faint, but there’s something. No one has cleaned up here. The space is still tainted, by fear if not by blood.

  Did I say I don’t pray anymore? I can’t help it now. I don’t address it, but a silent plea goes out to whoever might be listening.

  If not for me, for them. Please.

  The bedroom at the top of the stairs is small, just big enough for a double bed that hardly leaves enough room for closet doors and dresser drawers to open. I sit on the edge of the unmade bed and think about the mother. The faint scent of her clings to the sheets. I lie down and rest my head on the pillow.

  The flood of emotion comes fast and hard. Confusion, terror… not for herself alone, but for her children. If I thought my heart was being clawed at before, this is ripping it in two.

  The connection is exhausting, but it’s coming.

  Laughter. The rogues do enjoy their work.

  Shadows.

  The door bursts open, flooding the room with blinding light. Impossibly strong hands haul her out of bed. She tries to fight them off, scratching and kicking, and they laugh again. She begs them to leave the children alone, she’ll do whatever they want. A cold hand clamps over her mouth.

  I sit up. I can’t see anything helpful, and if I linger in her mind I’ll go insane.

  But I can’t shake her.

  I stagger out into the hallway, and the shadows follow. Black and white images, faded like old photos.

  Chills pass over my skin as I catch sight of an after-image about to fade. A slim form walking ahead, white hair swaying as she moves.

  They’re gone, and I can’t call them back, even when I force myself to return to the bed and lie down. The mother’s shadows are gone, but I got what I needed for myself.

  My gift never lied to me. Katya wasn’t in London when these crimes happened. She was right here.

  Bile rises in my throat, and I lean forward on the bed to rest my head between my knees as white spots pass from my vision. The hell of this now is that I’m no closer to proving a damned thing than I was before. Daniel might believe me. Maybe. But even if he does, it won’t help. This is no romance that will lead to him throwing himself on enemy swords to save me. He’s walking a tightrope right now, and anyway, I’m not such a terrible loss. Even if he misses me for a while, that’s nothing to a creature who will live centuries. I’m a blip in his experience.

  I don’t want to die again. I don’t want this to be all there is for me.

  I force myself to my feet. No one’s coming to save me. This is all on me now, and sitting here on my ass isn’t going to help.

  I’m still staggering, even without emotion crowding my mind. I’m going to have to be careful. The other crime scenes didn’t drain me like this. But then, I wasn’t this weak going into them, and I wasn’t working this hard.

  The scrap of me that still feels connected to life and light feels strong. Awake. I cling to that as I move down the hall and enter a larger bedroom. This difference, this mistake in my makeup, is just about all I have left.

  Bunk beds in here, with a pink comforter on the bottom bunk and blue on the top. Two dressers, one desk, and a door to the ensuite bathroom. Mom gave the older kids the master bedroom.

  A yellow binder on the desk tells me as much about the girl as a diary would. The margins of the notes are filled with the initials “KB+JS” in hearts, and her name in various forms. Kari Black. Kari Smith. Kari Black-Smith. There’s a giant question mark and exclamation point on both sides of that last one.

  Third grade and the kid already had a sense of humour I appreciate.

  I close the notes and lie on the bottom bunk. My little friend Kari was already awake when they came in. Tears stream down my face, and I can’t help the sob that escapes as I close my eyes and the shadows crowd in. Her thoughts ring as clear as her emotions, if more fractured and faint.

  Big men and two ladies. So scary. They hurt her when they pull her out of bed, like that time Mark Peters gave her what he called an Indian burn but she knows you’re not supposed to call it that. She cries. Fear spikes. She screams at them to leave her brother alone. Big gorilla arms scoop her out of bed and haul her out of the room.

  Christopher. It has to be.

  I pull her pillow to my chest and hold it tight as the shadows fade, just as the mother’s did. I can see what happened in a jumble of mixed perceptions, but no matter how real I make it, I can’t change anything.

  I’m so sorry, Kari.

  The upper bunk is just as painful, and no more helpful. I get a vague sense of faces in deep shadow, all of them terribly blurry. They dropped this kid on the floor, broke his arm. I wonder whether our forensics crew gave a damn about that.

  I’m trembling all over as I head to the last bedroom, which is painted blue with stick-on truck images on the walls and an economy-size box of size five diapers in the corner. It smells like baby powder on the surface, undercut with the hint of diaper stink that hovers in every nursery no matter how clean it is. I open the big window wide to let some night air in.

  I hesitate as I reach out to touch the side bar of the wooden crib. I can already taste the fear at the back of my throat.

  I think of this family, the couple in their bedroom, the teenagers in Mount Pearl. If I don’t finish this, the rogues will likely be allowed to go back into hiding, only to kill again when they choose to emerge again somewhere els
e.

  One more time, and then I’m done. My fingers grip the rail tight, and I dig deep into both parts of myself—my humanity and my raw, dark power.

  The emotions are strong, but confusing. Primitive. The faces that enter the room are blurred, and I can’t understand the words I hear. The screams from downstairs are clearer.

  The baby started to cry then.

  He knows his mama’s voice, but it sounds bad. He wants her, screams for her, and she doesn’t come. These people smell and feel wrong. Cold. They’re not family, and he screams louder. The people laugh, but it’s not happy like when mama plays with him. A mass of white hair swirls around him as someone reaches down to pick him up. He tries to brush the hair away, but it gets tangled in his fingers where they’re sticky from him sucking on them as he fell asleep. He pulls his hand back, and she flinches. She pinches him hard under his arm, and the pain is a shock shooting through his body. He reaches for his teddy bear and catches it by the arm, but it’s jostled out of his hand as they haul him away from his bed, and he cries harder.

  I look around for the teddy bear. There’s a little blue one propped on the dresser, but it’s not the same. The one I saw was larger, brown, with curly fur. I want it. If that was his favourite toy, it might tell me more. Maybe. I don’t even know. My thoughts are muddling again.

  I just need that fucking bear. The thought is as instinctive as my desire to feed earlier.

  I push myself away from the crib, search the dresser drawers and the closet, but it’s gone. They must have taken it when they cleaned up after themselves.

  That’s it. I’m fucked.

  I sink to the floor, used up and worn out. I can’t do any more here. Katya has been committing the perfect crimes, and she won’t get caught until she wants to.

  Maybe I can still leave town and regroup. Get Trixie and Daniel to come with me, if I can convince them of what I saw. It’s nowhere near proof, but—

  He pulled her hair. Hard. That’s why she pinched him.

  I press my face to the side of the crib mattress. I just need a little more.

  Teddy fell behind, and he’s gone. Mama gets mad when Teddy falls back there, because it’s hard to reach him out. It was a fun game until the time Mama took Teddy away because—

  That’s all. It’s gone.

  It’s enough.

  I’m on my stomach, lifting the ruffled skirt and squirming under the crib. The shadows are almost black under here. There’s nothing on the floor, but something is hanging down, trapped between the mattress and the slats on the far side. I tug gently, and a little bear falls into my hand.

  Of course it’s small. It looked big in his mind because he was small.

  I choke back a sob of mixed grief and anger.

  Tangled around Teddy’s furry arm is a single long, white hair.

  I laugh through my tears. I can’t help it.

  I stand on shaky legs and clutch the bear tight, careful to keep the hair intact and attached. This proves that Katya was here, and she can’t claim she lost the hair during the investigation.

  She was in London for this one, or so she says.

  I turn to find a phone to call Daniel, and pause. The world outside these rooms disappeared while I was lost in the shadows, but it’s coming back to me. Nothing is clear. I’m almost powerless now.

  But nothing can mask the sharp, red anger that’s approaching.

  Katya appears in the doorway, smiling. She’s still feeling smug and satisfied, like she was back at the club, but there’s a wild fury in it now. She prowls in, a cat on the hunt, graceful and filled with a power that radiates from her. She’s been inducing fear, killing. I’ve only had a taste of that, but based on what I felt in that alley, I imagine she’s far stronger now than she’s ever let anyone but the other rogues see.

  I have no chance against her.

  “I knew you’d come back,” she says. “You’re smart. Talented. I’m sorry we didn’t meet sooner, when I might have helped you.”

  She sounds like she means it, but she still hates me. I can feel that. She wants to hurt me, and I don’t think that means turning me in. Not when I’ve seen what I have here tonight.

  I turn, intending to throw myself out the window, but she’s on me before I can take a step. I expect to feel pain.

  Instead, a needle pierces my arm, and everything disappears into darkness.

  18

  Dark.

  So cold.

  I twist my prone body as I struggle to remember what’s happened, but I can’t get up. My arms are tied behind me. No, cuffed. The frigid metal digs into my wrists when I try to pull free. I can’t see anything through the tight band of cloth covering my eyes.

  Every movement feels heavy and slow. I haven’t felt this sluggish since before I died, like I haven’t slept in days.

  I suspect, though, that it’s the opposite, and I’ve slept too much. I don’t know how long I’ve been out. It’s harder to judge when you don’t dream. Sleep is just a blank, black hole in the day. But all of the strength I gained from my taste of blood in that filthy alley is gone.

  I scrape the side of my face against the rough floor I’m lying on and work the blindfold down. No one has gagged me, but I’m not about to speak. Not until I figure out where I am.

  Where Katya brought me. My head is muzzy and my thoughts seem to have congealed into a semisolid lump, but I remember that. Her bright eyes, her victorious smile. A lunge. A pinprick.

  I should probably be glad I woke up at all. She might have access to whatever it is they use to put rogues like her down for good.

  It’s dark in here. It smells like a garage. I’m surrounded by walls of boxes that form a wide cell around me, so I can’t get a sense of how large the space might be. A cluck of my tongue echoes faintly beyond the stacks. Big space. Maybe a warehouse.

  The gasoline stink is nauseating, and worse for the hunger that’s waking within me like a yawning pit.

  I roll my head from side to side, loosening my neck, then open my mouth to stretch my jaw muscles. They’re tight and sore on the left. I don’t remember the guys in the alley getting any good shots in. Katya must have taken out her frustrations on me after I went down. Or Christopher, if he was helping her.

  Fuckers.

  Dull pain thuds behind my eyes, and I lie still until it quiets a little.

  Shoulders next, as far as I can move. I’m stiff as a true corpse, but I can work that out if I’m careful and quiet. The cuffs won’t let me bring my arms forward, and my feet are tied, but I can at least stretch and flex a little.

  Something tugs at the hem of my jeans, and I kick out. It skitters away.

  The chill of this place has worked its way into my bones. I want to stretch and pace to rid myself of it, but I doubt I’d have the energy for that even if I could free my hands.

  I roll onto my side and use the momentum to shift to a sitting position with my hands behind me, barely keeping myself from toppling over again. The room swirls and tips sideways, and I close my eyes until the dizziness passes. When it does, I look up toward a ceiling lit by faint security lights. I feel like I should be able to see more. My senses are as sapped as my strength, and I’m reduced to nearly human levels of perception.

  How did I live like this? I’d almost forgotten how forbidding shadows can be.

  Catwalks span the ceiling high above me. They’re narrow, with thin handrails along the sides. Chains and ropes hang from the sides in places. It doesn’t tell me much about where I am.

  I’m as strong as I’m going to get here. Guess it’s time to say hello and hope she hasn’t left me here to waste away. I think she hasn’t. If she wanted to finish me, she’d have done it. We’re not through yet, Katya and I.

  “Katya!” I shout. My voice cracks.

  A door opens and closes somewhere beyond the boxes, and hard-soled boots clop across the floor. She’s not moving as lightly as she was when she sneaked up on me, but there’s a strength I can only envy in those s
teps.

  She shoves a stack of boxes aside, sending them cascading to the floor with thuds that echo, beating into my head like drums and bringing my headache roaring back. I don’t react to the noise, or to the faint sunlight that streams into my space from high, filthy windows that were blocked from view before. Not enough to hurt me if I was at full strength, but right now it’s not doing good things for the pain.

  On the surface, Katya looks as composed as she ever has. Low-heeled boots, dark jeans that look like they were cut just to fit her, tailored jacket. But the blouse underneath is wrinkled, like she’s slept in it, and her hair’s tied up in a high ponytail. She sets her hands on her hips and purses her lips as she looks me over.

  “You’re awake.”

  I don’t know how to answer that, so I stare up at her, waiting.

  She chuckles. “How are we feeling today?”

  “Like shit.” I don’t have the strength to lie. I wish I had an ounce of Trixie’s attitude to offer her.

  “You didn’t like my medicine?” She crouches well outside of my reach and rests her elbows on her knees. “That was a little taste of true death. Just a drop, and diluted, but you’ve been out for three days. Any more and you’d be gone completely, never to return. This is what we do to traitors and criminals.”

  “Like you?”

  She grins, fangs gleaming in the faint light. “Yet here I am, and soon you won’t be. So what are we to make of that?”

  The room swims again. “You’re setting me up?”

  She shrugs and stands. “We’ll see how well you play the game.”

  “What?” I can’t follow what she’s saying. I need a drink. I need blood. I need something. “Why are you doing all of this?”

  Her lip lifts in a gorgeous sneer. “You’ll understand some day, Aviva, if I let you survive that long. You’ll see how boring it all gets after a few centuries. How you work for something great, only to see it fall flat and become a pathetic imitation of what you intended.”

  “Maelstrom.” My mouth feels like it’s full of dry cotton, and I can barely get the word out.